"You're sure this is going to work, Hiccup?" Astrid asked, turning to the skinny, seventeen year old boy, who had just finished drawing the necessary symbols in goats' blood.
"I think the better question is; are you sure about this?" Hiccup countered in his nasal drawl, as he tossed the empty vials of goats' blood, which he had pinched from his veterinarian mother's office, into a corner of the tent. "You do realise what you're attempting to do, right?"
The soft glow of candles filled the empty tent, which the two of them had erected in the woods just outside of Berk, casting watery shadows against the dark coloured canvas. The floor had been hastily covered with a wooden plyboard. Geometric patterns and strange, alien symbols, which hurt her eyes just to look at them, surrounded a circled pentagram.
Hiccup had spent most of the night painstakingly copying them, from the black, leather bound book that lay beside where he rested on his knees. Where he had gotten the book, Astrid never knew.
Hiccup was weird. Always had been. While other children had spent summer days riding bikes, playing roller hockey, or baseball, Hiccup had dragged her, when she was home from touring with her daredevil stuntman Uncle Finn, into the woods and fields that surrounded Berk. Searching for the trolls that lived there, at least, that was according to his 'Uncle' Gobber.
The search for trolls soon gave way for a love of dragons, and over the years this love of the mythical had expanded, and evolved, into an interest of the mystical.
Hiccup's room was an oxymoron. He had shelves filled with books devoted to the deconstruction, and explanation of the world; books on physics, chemistry, biology, engineering, and mechanics. These, however, were mixed in with, and in no particular order, books devoted to the unknowable, and the unattainable, and frankly, the impossible. Books on the metaphysical, on hoodoo, and voodoo. On mysticism, cryptozoology, witchcraft, spiritology, and, in the case of the black leather bound book; demonology and the occult.
Some of these were harmless enough, things Hiccup had picked up from novelty shops he had found while travelling with his father. Others, however, set Astrid's teeth on edge. These were the obscure ones, the ones that were written in Latin, ancient Greek, and Hebrew, the ones with disturbing images drawn on thick parchment. The ones that seemed to fall from their place in the shelves while she raided his room, looking desperately for an answer.
"Yes I do. There's no other way," Astrid snapped, as Hiccup stood up next to her.
"Oh I don't know, how about doctors, hospitals, those kinds of things. I'd maybe look into them first before even thinking about this," Hiccup snipped. He had been dead set against this from the start. Stubbornly refusing to go along with her plans.
Hiccup had only finally conceded when Astrid began to cry. Hiccup had never seen her cry before, not even when she was twelve and had fallen from her uncle's dirt bike, and broke her arm. Whether these were tears of frustration, anger, helplessness, genuine sadness, or a combination of all four, Hiccup had soon realised that he couldn't stand to see the brave, ferocious, and steadfast girl he had known all his life, cry.
In the end, though he was still extremely reluctant, he had agreed, but that hadn't stopped him. Hiccup was still trying to change her mind at every opportunity.
Astrid glared at the thin, auburn haired boy, before wordlessly handing him a crumpled letter. Hiccup was silent for several moments, as he read, a first since she had known him. When he finally looked up, his green eyes were apologetic, his face crestfallen.
"Astrid… I'm…"
She shook her head, interrupting him, "Is this going to work?"
Hiccup shrugged as he gestured to the book.
"I've done everything that the book says to," He paused, before grabbing her, and turning her to meet his eyes. Emerald green, filled concern, met sapphire blue, alight with determination, and perhaps, unease. "I really don't like this. Are you sure you want do this?"
Astrid steeled herself and shrugged off his hand. "Yes."
She was prepared to pay whatever price that would be asked for. Her uncle was dying, the man who had done so much for her, was dying and there was nothing that anyone could do. But she could do this, it would be worth it.
At least that was what she kept telling herself.
Hiccup nodded. "At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I'm going to say it again; I really don't like this… but if you're sure… Then all that's needed is a drop of your blood in the centre."
She nodded, and picked up the dagger that Hiccup had brought with him. As she kneeled in front of the blood covered plyboard, Hiccup began to chant. The air became still, the flames of the candles began to rise, and the blood began to turn black, burning into the wood.
As Hiccup's chanting reached a crescendo, Astrid leaned over the now smoking makeshift altar, and drew the dagger across her palm. Blood dripped from her hand and splashed dead centre of the now, black and smoking pentagram, where crimson liquid hissed and bubbled.
In an instant, the candles went out, and the air turned deathly cold.
"Well, well, well," A deep, menacing voice whispered to them from the shadows, seemingly to come from both nowhere, and everywhere all at once. "What do we have here?"
Ghost Rider
Seven years later, Lynn County, Texas
The Thirteenth Wheel was like any other biker bar that dotted the vast state of Texas. Custom rides with the traditional, 'edgy' custom paints jobs, stood in stark contrast to the polished chrome and American steel of stock Harleys. The inside was just as stereotypical. The bar was dark, it was dingy, the heavy aroma of stale sweat, cheap beer and unwashed bodies, mixed with the harshness of the nicotine haze that seemed to permanently hang in the air.
Heavy set men with thick beards, dressed in an assortment of blue jeans and black leather vests, laughed uproariously as they threw darts, or shot pool on the old table with the peeling velvet. Others, however, huddled in darkened corners, nursing chipped glasses of cheap beer, while discussing in low, hurried voices, things that were better off left alone, unturned by public eye or scrutiny.
It was the kind of kind of bar that Astrid Hofferson had spent the past several years of her life visiting. A depressing and long several years, which had taught her, that bars like these were all the same. Sure, some tried to hide it behind an edgy name, or tried to disguise it, in the style of romanticized version of a western saloon. But all these attempts did, was to reinforce the overused stereotype.
In truth, at any other time, Astrid would have ignored the Thirteenth Wheel and continued down the three-eighty into New Mexico. Unfortunately for the patrons and locals who frequented the bar, Astrid had business with one of the regulars.
She pulled off the full face helmet, and absentmindedly brushed the dust and the dirt that had accumulated on the black leather of her jacket. The few metal studs on the shoulders clinking, as her thin, almost boney, fingers flicked them.
"Hmm, pleasant," Astrid scoffed to herself as she took in the sight of the Thirteenth Wheel.
With casual ease, she killed the engine, and kicked out the stand, leaving the bike at the end of the long dusty line.
The bike was an older street model, rugged and powerfully built. The chrome was immaculately polished, and clean, despite dusty roads. The gas tank and fenders were painted a bright blue, with yellow lightning bolts spider-webbing down the sides. It was these lightning bolts, and an unfortunate, harrowing ride in a prairie storm one summer, which had given Astrid the inspiration for her name, Stormfly. Astrid had always referred to the bike as female, she couldn't imagine anything so beautiful, and so powerful as anything else but.
Stormfly was also the only link remaining that Astrid had to her family. Well, the only family she had that was worth remembering. Her uncle, The 'Fearless' Finn Hofferson, stunt rider extraordinaire. The man who had taught her everything she knew about bikes, the man who had taught her to never live in fear, the man who had been killed in a deal of her making.
Patting the handles like a favourite pet, Astrid slid from the bike, dust, like smoke, coiling around her thick riding boots, and made her way to bar's entrance, sparing only a moment to glance at the setting sun. The hues of reds, oranges, pinks and yellows that filled the Texan sky, reflected like fire in the cold blue of her eyes. Astrid's thin lips pulled into mirthless smirk, as she smoothed her blonde, braided hair and pushed her way into the Thirteenth Wheel.
Astrid took a deep and calming breath. She could feel the excitement building in her, threatening to bubble over, and that was dangerous. But this was the closest that the she had ever been to her target and it was taking everything to keep herself in check.
"Soon," Astrid whispered to herself.
The door squealed on rusty hinges, her boots thumped against the floor, stained with years of spilt beer, and droplets of blood from the fights that had occurred almost daily.
As Astrid crossed over the threshold, and into the dim and poorly lit building, several of the patrons looked up from their drinks, from their tables, from their games and their conversations. Some of the looks cast her way, were harmless enough; a quick glance of interest at the newcomer, before turning back to business at hand. Some were appreciative; looking the slim, petite figure, clad in blue jeans and leather, up and down with raised eyebrows and small grins.
Other looks, however, were predatory. Evil grins and whispered conversations, accompanied by whistles and cat calls. Astrid ignored them as she walked to bar, they weren't important, they weren't why she was here.
An older man, grey haired and unshaven, was behind the bar, wiping at a glass with semi-clean rag. He looked up, giving Astrid a quick once over with weary eyes as she sat on the stool in front of him.
"Wha' can I be gettin' ya, there darlin'?"
Astrid spared a quick glance at the glass the bartender had in hand, as she laid a bill on the stained counter top. "Whatever you got on tap, and in a clean glass."
The bartender nodded as he reached below the counter. Half a minute later, a mug of cold, frothy, piss coloured liquid, was set in front of her. Astrid took an experimental sip and scowled. It was cheap, it was bitter, everything that she had expected.
"I know it ain't none o' mah business, but what's a sweet little thang like ya, doin' out all by yer lonesome? 'Specially inna place like this?" The bartender asked, giving her a concerned eye, before wiping down the counter, as though a few quick swipes with the dirty rag would wipe away the years of dirt and stains.
Astrid shook her head, as she took another sip of the bitter, piss water, that the bartender had the audacity to call beer and scowled. "You're right, it isn't any of your business. But if you must know, I'm waiting for somebody, maybe you've seen him."
The bartender instantly became guarded, carefully scrutinizing the slim blonde. "Ya ain't a cop, are ya?"
"Do I look like a cop?" Astrid asked, as she dug into the inside of her jacket. "I'm more of a… bounty hunter, if you will."
She laid a crisp, one-hundred dollar bill on counter, sliding it slowly and tantalizingly, towards the bartender. The older man looked at the bill, she could see that his mind was at work. She could see him weighing the pros and cons of taking the offered cash, and the repercussions that may follow if his cooperation was discovered.
Seeing the man's hesitation, Astrid frowned, and the Benjamin on the counter was soon joined by his twin. The bartender wet his lips, and fidgeted uncomfortably, staring down at the two bills laying on his counter.
Seconds ticked by, and Astrid patience was steadily, and quickly, eroding. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to grab the man by his neck, and put the fear of God into him, and every bloodstained soul that resided in this pit of a bar. She wanted to break it, to burn it to the ground, piss on its ashes and leave the charred remains as a testimony to the wicked.
Her temper was fraying, it was on its last strand. She could feel the heat of her choler, as it burned behind her eyes, screaming to be released, screaming to be unleashed. That wasn't good.
Astrid took another deep, calming breath, and another hundred dollar bill joined the small pile. The bartender licked his lips one more time, before swiping the money off the counter and tucking the folded bills into the pocket of his faded and torn jeans.
"Alright there, darlin,' whosit who be lookin' fo'?"
Pushing her beer aside, Astrid leaned in close. "I'm looking for a tall, skinny man. About… six feet or so tall, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. Red hair, broad jaw. Three blue stripes tattooed on his upper right arm, another three across his left eye. Goes by the name…"
"Dagur. Leader of the Berserkers. Yeah, I know who he is, he's a regular 'round 'ere. An' let me tell ya, that there man is a fuckin' psychopath," The bartender held his hands up in apology. "Pardon my language there ma'am, but that is the only way I can describe that psycho. Ya best be stayin' away from him, ifin' ya know what's good fo' ya."
Astrid waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me, I can handle myself. What time does he usually arrive?"
The bartender was about to answer, when he suddenly raised his hands and backed away. Astrid turned in her seat as she heard the steady clump of boots, and the click of spurs against the wooden floor.
Standing in front of her was a large man. Leather riding chaps covered his jeans, his black vest was left open, showing off his grease, and oil stained white t-shirt, which was stretched across his massive chest. A dark red bandana was tied loosely around his neck, and both arms were heavily tattooed. Unlike many others in this bar, his beard was neatly trimmed and his hair was cropped close to his skull. His eyes were predatory, as they traced Astrid's slim figure. His grin was a case study of failed attempts at being both charming and disarming. It was hungry, malicious. Lecherous.
"So why ya sittin' 'ere all yer lonesome, there darlin'?" The man drawled, trying to maintain the poor fitting illusion of a charming southern boy. "Sweet little thang like ya ought ta come an' sit with me an' the boys. We know how show a girl like yerself a real good time."
Astrid cast the man a cold glare. "I doubt that. So why don't you piss off? I'm busy."
"Gotta li'l bit of spunk in ya, don'cha there darlin? The man's grinned widened. "I like that in mah women."
"Bobby," The bartender was cutting now, a vain attempt to keep some pretense of order. "The girl wants ta be left alone…"
'Bobby' cut the bartender off with a glare. His attempted easy going smile vanished.
"I don' remember talkin' ya, so why don' ya fuck off an' mind yer own fuckin' business." Bobby snarled. He turned back to her, his feigned friendliness gone. "Now then darlin', ifin ya li'l nervous 'bout them boys, how 'bout me and ye go some place quiet, and get ta know one 'nother a li'l bit better?"
Astrid slowly got up from her stool, and turned to face the biker. "It seems that your grasp of the English language is somewhat lacking, so I'll say this slowly, and with words you may understand. Piss. Off. You. Steaming. Pile. Of. Hog. Shit."
The slow drone of conversation died away, and an uneasy silence fell over the bar. Many of the patrons turned in their seats, for a better look at the scene that was unfolding. Most couldn't believe their eyes. This thin wisp of a blonde, barely coming up to Bobby's massive chest, was staring him down as though she was twice his size.
Chairs scraped against the beer stained floor, as several of the patrons made moves to get out of their seats. Some were altruistic in their motivations, moving to come to the defense of the slim blonde.
Others, however, noting the dark patches that decorated the backs of Bobby and his associates; had decided that coming to the defense of the obviously suicidal woman, was a risk not worth taking and headed towards the exit. Determined to put as many miles between them, and any unpleasantries that may follow, as quickly as possible.
Bobby's associates, noticed this movement, and got to their feet as well, all of them reaching into their vests, or behind their jeans. A not so subtle threat, hinting at the weapons that they had hidden on their persons. The small group of bikers, who had risen to come to the defense of the blonde, were suddenly second guessing themselves.
After all who was this woman? A drifter, a good looking drifter, sure, but no one worth getting stabbed or shot over.
A second later the bikers joined their fellows in walking out the exit. The rumble of bikes being started, and the roar of machines as the rode off down the interstate, filled the tense silence. Soon the bar was empty, save for Bobby, his gang, a terrified bartender, and a pissed off blonde woman in riding leathers.
So much for human decency, Astrid thought bitterly.
Bobby, seeing that Astrid had yet to back down, reached for her, attempting to wrap his arm around her waist, and pull her against his bulk. "Now then, darlin', don't be shy. See here, we all alone, jus' you an' me…"
As Bobby's arm went to circle her waist, Astrid's arm shot out and slapped it away, the heel of her palm smacking loudly against his wrist bone.
"I'm only going to warn you one last time. Leave me alone."
Astrid was struggling to remain calm, taking deeps breaths. It felt as though a bonfire had been lit in her flesh. Her breathing was become ragged, and her face was becoming flushed with anger. It was all she could do to keep control, to keep herself from lashing out on these men, to remind herself that these men were not what she was here for.
Bobby took a step back, momentarily surprised at being struck. He looked back at his gang, all had mocking smiles, some were even urging him on with whistles, and catcalls.
That was it, Bobby could not back down now. This girl had insulted him, had struck him. Mocked him. If he back down now, he would lose all respect and standing in the gang. If it got out that Bobby Taylor, had been threatened by this slim little girl and had run away with his tail between his legs, he would never be able to show his face in any biker circle again. The patch on his back, which had earned him both respect and fear, would count for nothing.
He took a step forward, shifting his bulk into a threatening posture. "Do ya even know who I am there darlin'? I think it's in yer best intrest iffin ya jus' go alon' withit."
Astrid matched his step forward. She channeled some of her rage through her gaze, matching Bobby's glare and allowing a bit of the fire behind her eyes to burn through. In that moment, she everything about him, every ill deed. Every sin that Bobby had ever committed.
"I know everything about you, Robert Elijah Taylor." Her voice low, and cold, despite the fire that was burning in her. "I know every deed, every guilty act that you have ever committed against the innocent. I see every drop of their blood that stains your soul. Leave now if you want to remain among the living."
Even though it was barely above a whisper, Bobby could hear the warning as clear as day. Shivers went down his spine, and felt himself, for the second time that night, taking an involuntary step back.
Mocking laughter rang out from the table behind Bobby, snapping him from his stupor. Astrid felt her hopes deflate. This was it. There was no avoiding it now.
Bobby reached out again, snatching Astrid's arm in a tight grasp. Had Bobby been in a rational mind set, he would have wondered at why she felt so hot, even through the leather of her jacket.
Even as he grabbed her, Astrid was already moving. She caught his hand in a vice like grip, and before Bobby could register what was happening, she twisted the wrist and pulled. Bobby was thrown off balance. His own centre of gravity threw him forward, and into Astrid's other hand, which had come up, striking him in the chin with the heel of her palm, throwing his head back, and knocking him even more of balance.
But Astrid was not done. As Bobby staggered backwards, she grabbed him by the back of his head with both hands, and while he was still off balance, Astrid slammed his head face first into the counter top. There was a sickening crunch and a spray of blood as Bobby's nose was smashed flat against his face.
There was a scraping of chairs, as Bobby's gang, all five of them, leaped up from their table. An assortment of knives, pipes, and chains were pulled from various hiding places, and the five of them began to surround her.
"Shit," Astrid cursed, as she shifted her stance, centring herself. Raising her arms in preparation of a rush to take her off guard. This wasn't what she wanted. This had escalated beyond her control, and Dagur had yet to show himself.
She felt the anger twisting inside of her. She felt the darker part of herself, clawing at her mind, wanting to be released. She could feel the evil that hung around these men like a poisonous fog. She wanted to lash out at these men, to bite, to kick, to slaughter them, to wreak such vengeance upon them…
"No," Astrid hissed under her breath, forcing that part of her back into the depths of her mind. "No. I don't need it. I can handle this, without that. I won't risk losing Dagur's trail because of these assholes."
Astrid slowly began to back away, not allowing herself to be surrounded. Trying to get obstacles, like chairs and tables between her and the men threatening to surround her.
Bobby slowly picked himself up from the floor. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood away from his mouth, and spat out the rest.
"Ya dumb bitch, ya brok my dose!" He turned to his gang. "Fugg thi' bitch up."
As the gang moved to carry out their leader's orders, the bartender quickly cut in, seeing that this had finally gone too far.
"That's enough there Bobby! You an' your boy's better git outta 'ere righ' now! I've already called the Sheriff, so y'all better clear out…"
He never got to finish. A crack of deafening thunder rang out, as the bartender's chest was torn open by twin blasts of twelve gauge buckshot. Blood splattered against the wall as the man collapsed behind the bar.
Astrid turned in surprise and shock, to glare at the murderer, as the hollow thunk of spent shell casings filled the now silent bar. Bobby's savage grin, was marred by the blood leaking from his flattened nose, as he causally reloaded the sawed off, double barrel shotgun.
As she took her eyes from the circling gang members, one took his chance, and charged.
Astrid never saw the lead pipe, until it smashed against her jaw with a sickening thud. The force of the blow caused her to spin and stagger several steps. All the while the group of bikers closed in around her.
Bobby swaggered as he walked towards the leather clad woman his gang falling in step with him. "Ya could had jus' made it easy od yerself. But doooo, ya had ta go an' make it difficult. Dow me an' da boys 'ere are goin' ta make ya pay for bein' a li'l upstart bitch."
They stopped in surprise, as Astrid straightened, rolling her shoulders, and cracking her neck. The six of them took a step back in disgust, as she turned to face them. The bottom of her jaw was hanging loose and off to the side, obviously broken from where the pipe had struck the left part of her face.
Staring the gang down, Astrid causally reached up, and pushed her broken jaw back into place with a sickening crack. Yet even as her gloved hands moved away from her jaw, bright red, yellow orange cracks began forming in the flesh of her cheeks, as flecks of skin began to fall away.
Smoke began rising from her body, in small wisps, as the bar began to become increasingly and uncomfortably hot. As though someone had lit a large bonfire in the middle of the room.
The gang member with the pipe, rushed Astrid again. Swinging his weapon, aiming for her face. She caught it with her hand in mid swing. The man then began to scream in pain, struggling to let go of his weapon, which had now began to glow a bright cherry red. He eventually succeeded, but left behind a fair chunk of burning, bubbling skin.
The biker stumbled back, clutching his freshly burned hand to his chest, as he whimpered in pain.
Bobby and the rest of his gang took another step back, even as he fumbled with his shotgun, trying desperately to reload it.
"Wha' in Sam's 'ell are you?"
The smoking woman grinned crazily, dropping the half-melted pipe to the floor, were it burned into the wood. She began to laugh insanely as even more fire red, and orange, spider web cracks spread across her face. When she answered, the voice was dry and hissing, something from a nightmare.
"I'm your judgment that has obviously been so long delayed, Robert Taylor. You, and your friends are all mine now."
With that, Astrid exploded in a ball of fire and heat, so intense that the bikers were forced to shield their eyes. When they opened, they were greeted with a vision of pure terror.
In front of them was a living nightmare. A being of fire and bone, clad in biker leathers that had once belonged to the blonde woman. The metal studs that had decorated her shoulders, were now inch long, razor sharp spikes, her face, was now a grinning, flaming skull. The reds, the oranges and the yellows of the fire, seemed to twist together like a braid, hanging down her back. Her eyes, once a clear blue, were now nothing more than soulless empty sockets.
There was a rattle, as a four foot long chain, slithered snakelike, into the bar, climbing up her leg, and wrapping around the lower part of her arm.
Before any of them could move, the flaming nightmare lashed out with the chain, snapping it out like bullwhip. The chain rapidly extended, wrapping itself around the chest of one of the unfortunate bikers. The victim, barely had time to scream, before he was thrown across the bar, the chain pinning him against the wall.
"No… Please… Don't…" The man begged.
The grinning skull laughed, before she pulled the chain tight. "Go to Hell."
The man screamed one last time, before he erupted in a cloud of burning ash, dust, and embers. The heat was so intense, his shadow was melted into the wall; a last testament to the man's final, hellish, moments.
Bobby wasted no more time, he leveled his shotgun and unloaded both barrels into terror that had once been his intended victim. The shots slammed home, tearing into her jacket, with brief, bright flares of fire.
The shotgun blasts didn't even phase Astrid, as she whipped the chain out again, laughing, with that terrifying, dry hissing sound, as the biker with the burned hand, ducked beneath a table, hoping against hope, that the thin wooden barrier would save him. The chain came down, the links morphing into the head of a battle axe, cutting through the thin wood. The biker who, had hidden beneath it, didn't even have the time to scream, before the head of the axe, now alight with Hellfire, cut him in two, and burning through what remained.
Astrid laughed, as without stopping, she whipped the chain out again, wrapping it around the stomach of another victim. She pulled the chain, and was momentarily surprised, when instead of burning through him, and leaving the poor soul a pile of ash and brimstone, it merely threw her intended victim across the bar, slamming him painfully against the wall.
Astrid's surprise caused her to hesitate, and the three remaining bikers took their chances. Bobby fumbled as he struggled to reload his gun, while the other two's fight or flight instincts had kicked in.
One charged, knife raised in a display of either suicidal bravery, or reckless insanity. The other ran, dropping his chain, and bolting as fast as he could towards the door, to whatever imagined safety that the quiet darkness of the night represented.
Neither had a chance.
Astrid caught the one with the knife in a skeletal hand by the neck. Although the man was a full head taller, and twice her weight, she lifted him easily off the ground and watched as the Hellfire that covered her appendage, burnt scalding black marks into his unshaven neck.
The man screamed in pain, as he tried to fight, tried to claw the vice that gripped his neck. But it was to no avail. Astrid squeezed tight, and her victim disintegrated into a pile of burning ash and brimstone.
"Guilty," Was her only comment.
The squeal of the door opening, and the clack of the shotgun's chamber closing, divided her attention. Astrid, was not about to let any of them, get away. Throwing her hands out, a blast of Hellfire tossed Bobby off his feet and slammed him against the far wall of the bar. The shotgun, now an unrecognizable mass of molten slag, clattered to the floor next to him.
With Bobby now laying propped up against the wall, Astrid moved to deal with the final annoyance that had cost her several months of work.
The biker had thrown the door open wide in his panic, giving Astrid the perfect view of her targets back.
Several links of the chain uncoiled from her arm at her silent command, the ending links morphing into a razor sharp barbed spike.
"Where do you think you're going?" She shouted at the retreating biker. "Get over here!"
Astrid threw out her hand, and her chain shot out, rocketing towards the biker, tearing through his back and erupting out his chest, with a spray of Hellfire.
Seeing her target now hooked on her chain, Astrid wrapped her arm around the links and pulled. The man was lifted off his feet, and was dragged screaming back into the living hell that had once been his and his gang's occasional haunt. He was pinned against the back wall, his eyes wide with terror, pleading, begging the monster to show pity, to show mercy.
The skull looked up, pausing for a moment, staring into the biker's soul. Noticing how the Hellfire from the chain wept from the wound in his chest, like an infected sore. There was no mercy to be had.
"I'll be seeing you in Hell," Astrid hissed mercilessly, as she snapped the Hellfire chain like a whip.
The man, like the others, erupted in a cloud of embers, ash, and brimstone, as his soul was sent screaming into Hell.
With a thought, the chain shrank back to its regular size and shape, wrapping itself diagonally across Astrid's chest. There was no more need for it; the only other biker left, besides Bobby, was innocent. The fact that the Hellfire chain had left him untouched, unlike the others who had burned and died, had proven that to her. Bobby on the other, with his murder of the bartender, had earned a different punishment. A far worse punishment.
Across the bar, Bobby was struggling to his feet as Astrid stalked towards him. Her boots burning scorch marks into the wooden floor boards. She reached down, lifted him up by his vest, and slammed him against the wall.
"You are guilty, Robert. Your soul has been stained by the blood of the innocent," She hissed into his face. "Look into my eyes, Robert. Feel their pain, know their suffering."
Bobby tried to shrink away from the merciless gaze, but to no avail. His eyes remained locked with the Hellfire wreathed skeleton, he remained staring into the empty sockets of its skull, watching the fire swirl.
Then the screaming began. Bobby saw, and felt every guilty action that he had ever done. He could feel every ounce of guilt as it tore through his mind. He could feel the gaze burning away his soul, leaving him cold, and dead inside.
He couldn't look away, couldn't close his eyes, all he could do was scream. Even as the cords in his throat tore, he continued to scream. Even as tears, of both pain and fear, were dripping from eyes that couldn't, or that wouldn't close, he continued to scream and blubber.
As Astrid held him mercilessly in her gaze, Bobby began to beg.
"Please… please… please make it stop! Stop! No more… I'm sorry! Please! No more!"
Astrid leaned in closer, the empty sockets of her eyes burning deeper into his mind and soul.
"No. More," She hissed in that pitiless voice, brining on fresh screams of her victim, as she brought the grinning, burning skull of her face closer to his.
It was pathetic really. It always was. After a life time of evil deeds committed against those unable to defend themselves, men like Bobby, always broke so easily. Once the stare was applied they began to cry, weep, and scream, like hungry babies deprived a teat.
She held him there for a minute longer. Feeling the Penance Stare burning away what little there was left of the soul, before tossing him like a rag doll.
Bobby fell against the floor, curling into the foetal position, and rocking himself. Tears and snot, running down his face, mixing with the crusted blood of his broken nose. From the stain on the back of his pants, it was obvious that Bobby had both pissed, and soiled himself.
Astrid shook her head in disgust as she made her way towards the last of the biker gang.
The man, really more of a boy, who couldn't have been much older than nineteen, lay groaning behind the bar's counter top. As Astrid approached, the boy began screaming and scrambled backwards. His hand cutting open on broken glass, leaving a thin trail of blood, as he tried to scoot away from the advancing demon.
Leaning down, and gripping his front with skeletal hands, Astrid easily lifted the boy off the floor, and slammed him onto the counter top. The boy struggled, still crying out, begging to be let go, claiming that he was not one of the gang.
Astrid's flaming skull got right in his face. Her teeth snapping shut just above his nose.
"Shut. Up."
The boy turned white, and stifled a scream that turned into a whine, as he tried to press further against the stained counter. As though willing the hard wood, to swallow him, to help him escape from this nightmare.
"You are innocent," Astrid began, staring down at the young man. "The fact that the Hellfire spared you, while destroying your friends proves that. So I'm going to give you this warning, once and only once. Change your ways now, and you will never see me again."
Then she lifted him up, forcing him to stare into her empty eyes, and the promise of damnation that lay there. "But if you don't. I will hunt you. I will find you. There will be no second chance, and there will be no mercy. Do you understand?"
The young man nodded, turning a pale white, before passing out in terror.
Astrid dropped the young man back to the counter top, and causally strolled out of the wrecked bar. The cool, dry wind of the Texan night greeted her as she stepped down from the porch, and on to the sand and gravel lot.
There was a guttural, almost feral roar, as Stormfly drove over to her. The bike, like Astrid herself, had been morphed into a machine that look like it had come from the depths of Hell. Foot long, bone white spikes jutted out from the rear fender, the tailpipes looked almost like a skeletal spine, and erupted great gouts of Hellfire. The front extended out in the style of a chopper, while the forks was decorated with a grinning chrome skull. The wheels were made of Hellfire, and yet more of the dark orange flames, leaked from the skull's eyes and mouth.
Astrid swung her leg over the seat, and mounted Stormfly. The powerful Hell bike let loose another feral roar, before she took off down the road. The Hellfire wheels, burning a great scar into asphalt of highway three-eighty.
The night was a disappointment. Dagur would be alerted and would have sensed the aura of the Devil's Bounty hunter. Astrid knew it would be a while before Dagur made himself known again, but when he did, Astrid, the Ghost Rider, would be waiting for him.
In the meantime, Astrid could concentrate on the three other escapees, and on finally removing this curse.
Astrid sat beside Hiccup's hospital bed, clutching at his limp hand, willing herself, forcing herself not to look down, and towards the end of the bed. Towards where the sheets fell loose around where his left foot should be.
It was quite in the sterile room, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor, the rhythmic, worrying shaking of Astrid's worn ridding boot, as it tapped against the sterile white of the linoleum floor. They were alone, Valka, Hiccup's mother had just stepped out to get lunch for the two of them, his father, Stoick, had stopped by that morning, offering her, as he had every day since the incident, a place in their home. Astrid had yet to give him an answer.
She was numb, unfeeling. She could nothing more than clutch at his hand, and stare at his pale, freckled face.
"Hiccup you idiot," She whispered to the unconscious teen.
It had been two weeks since the incident, since she had tried to bargain for Finn's life.
Hiccup had saved her. She had signed the contract, not even hesitating when the demon had named its price, or when it had moved to take its promised prize. Hiccup, however, unable to stand and watch, as his only friend was dragged to Hell, had intervened. He had acted quickly, stomping his foot over their plywood alter, marring the patterns with dirt and mud, disturbing the delicate wards that kept the demon tethered to this world.
In doing so, his left foot had been encased in dark, burning fire. The intense heat of the unholy flames had seared away his flesh, muscle, and sinew, leaving only exposed bone and blackened skin.
The demon itself, had been sent back from whence it came, leaving Astrid to drag the unconscious Hiccup from the tent, begging for help as she raced to his car; but not before it had issued a final warning from the Netherrealm.
"A deal is still a deal, Astrid Hofferson. I will free your uncle from his illness as we agreed, but remember, your soul is still mine to do as I wish. We will meet again, Astrid Hofferson. Of that I promise."
The demon had done as it had promised. Her uncle had been 'cured' in loosest term of the word. The morning after Astrid and Hiccup's summoning, Fearless Finn, in front of a crowd of hundreds, had been killed. He lost control of his bike in mid-air of his famous Flightmare jump, a stunt he had done hundreds of times. Unable to control his landing, Fearless Finn's head had ended up smashing against the lip of the landing ramp.
And Hiccup had yet to wake up. The doctors were unsure of how long the coma would last. They were baffled. The doctors and coma experts had never seen anything like this before. His brain activity, the movement of his eyes, had all indicated that Hiccup was merely asleep, but all attempts at waking him had failed. Still most were optimistic, the best prediction had given him two to four weeks.
Astrid, however knew better. This was not a coma caused by trauma. This was something caused by the supernatural. It was caused by a demon of immense power. The cynical part of her doubted that he would ever fully recover.
Leaning over Astrid pressed her lips against Hiccup's pale cheek, and with great difficulty let go of his hand. Astrid could see now that she was a danger to everybody that she cared about. It was her fault her uncle was dead. It was her fault that Hiccup was laying unmoving in a hospital bed, with his lower leg gone.
Astrid left the hospital, and mounted her bike, Stormfly. What few possessions she had left, were packed into the saddle bags. The powerful engine roared to life, and seconds later, Astrid was riding down the road. Determined to put as many of miles from her and what remained of her family as possible.
Even as she rode into the setting sun, she could hear the demon's whisper in her ear, the warning that she had given her that night.
"Your soul is mine to do as I wish. We will meet again Astrid Hofferson."
Astrid shook her head and rode on, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that someone, or something, was watching her over her shoulder. She would deal with that, when the time came. She was sure of that.
Well here it is, my first ever fan fiction, I hope you enjoyed it. I'm not sure if I'll continue this or not, I'll see what the response is. I would like to thank oh-you-pretty-things for helping me with the English.